


This Not -hic!- Fucking -hic!- Funny!

by ChestnutWheelBarrow



Category: Newsies (1992)
Genre: 1992 Newsies appreciation, 1992sies because I just love it so much, Along with ITS UP THERE INNIT, Also Blood Drips was amazing, Also in honour of Newsies streaming on Playbill in less than an hour, FORGET ABOUT TREY WHERES MY FUCKING CHAIR???, Gabriel Damon as Spot, Hiccups, I still can’t believe he was 25 when he was in Newsies, Like what he looks like an 11 year old, M/M, Masterpiece, Max Casella as Racetrack, NEWSIES NEWSIES NEWSIES NEWSIES NEWSIES, NEWSIES ON A MISSION, Newsies is more important, No Beta read we die like men, Oh wait wait wait, Or in this case Newsies, WTF IS WRONG WITH ME?, Where was I again?, Which I will be watching even though it’ll be the middle of the night, YOU SEE THIS MR PURRRITZER???, i just love it so much, kill the competition, mewsies, oh right, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:22:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26034130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChestnutWheelBarrow/pseuds/ChestnutWheelBarrow
Summary: The two stared each other down, neither wanting to be the first to fold. Without any warning, Spot hiccuped suddenly, his narrowed eyes widening. His expression went back to angry just in time for him to hiccup again and Race bit his lip to stop himself smiling.
Relationships: Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	This Not -hic!- Fucking -hic!- Funny!

**Author's Note:**

> This is kinda shit post but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

The silence in the room was just as heavy as the tension in both Spot and Racetrack’s shoulders as they sat, side by side, on the too small cot that Spot called bed.

The two waited to make sure no one was still in the Brooklyn Lodging House. After hearing nothing but silence and the hustle and of the Brooklyn streets. That was all it took to trigger Spot again and he rounded on Racetrack, expression thunderous.

"Youse out of yer goddamn mind!" He yelled. "Do youse want ta get us killed? Youse seem ta be doin’ a good job, if yer are."

Race didn't respond, not bothering to defend himself or try to calm Spot down. He simply continued to stare at the door of Spot’s private room, his expression serious but just as angry as the latter’s.

"If da bulls come ‘ere to soak us ‘nd throw us in the Refugee den youse to blame, you hear me? I should soak ya myself fer this!"

Race just rolled his eyes. “Youse overreacting, Spot—”

“Don’t you fucking tell me I’m overreacting, Higgins!” The murder in Spot’s iced eyes was noticeably from miles away. He was too far gone to be stopped and calmed down, all that remained was man-sized anger in a child-sized body. Spot paced from one side of the room to another, ever so often he’d glanced back at Racetrack and snarl.

“Seriously, Spottie. I think you just need to sit down and—”

“Just shut up!” Spot growled, continuing to pace backwards and forwards.

Racetrack felt his own anger and irritation bubble up at Spot’s interruptions. He ran a hand through his slick, dark hair, and chewed on the end of the cigar that hung from his mouth. “If you’d just let me talk and not fucking interrupt me! Then maybe we could actually sort this out!” Spot stopped at that, he lifted his head, crystal blue eyes meeting chocolate brown.

The two stared each other down, neither wanting to be the first to fold. Without any warning, Spot hiccuped suddenly, his narrowed eyes widening. His expression went back to angry just in time for him to hiccup again and Race bit his lip to stop himself smiling.

He knew the second he smiled then the argument would be over and, as pointless as it was, Spot was the one who should be giving up first and apologise for overreacting and placing all the blame onto Racetrack. But there was something incredibly adorable and very amusing about the King of Brooklyn hiccuping with a frown on his face and a small amount of murder in his eyes.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Spot yelled after another loud hiccup. "This ain’t over, Higgins." He said, pointing at Race but the effect was ruined by another hiccup. "Fuck this!"

”Youse gotta hold yer breath and count ta three.” Racetrack said. Spot did, glaring the whole time, he inhaled deeply, held his break for three seconds, released, and then repeated two more times. There was a tense few seconds where the pair waited to see if Spot would hiccup again.

He did.

Race couldn't help it any longer and he let out a laugh, earning him another murderous glare, though the effect had worn off, now just making the blonde resemble a small child who was told they couldn’t have any more sweets.

"Fuck you, Race. This isn't funny." Spot said.

Race struggled to breathe as he continued to roar with laughter. This continued for another minute or so, Spot cursing just about everyone as the hiccuping got worse.

“This is so _\- hic!-_ fucking _-hic!-_ stupid!” Spot groaned.

Racetrack couldn’t do much to reply as he clutched his stomach, vision blurred with tears of joy. After a few more moments, Race managed to somewhat compose himself. “I’se don't think I've ever laughed that hard in my whole life, Spottie.”

Spot flopped down onto his bed, still hiccuping away. It was such a sight to see, one Racetrack considering himself luck to see. Spot’s girlish face was flushed a bright red, his hair no longer styled back, instead dropping down over his face. The dusting of freckles standing out against the colour of his skin. Race couldn’t help but smile, all anger and irritation dispelled and to be forgiven.

“Youse tell anyone ‘bout this and yer dead, ya hear me?” Spot said, defeat coursing through his tiny body.

“Sure, Spottie, I hear ya.”

The two fell into silence, Spot’s hiccuping seemingly gone. Race fell back onto the bed, a contest smiled on his face. The atmosphere was calm and Race could feel himself drifting off into sleep’s sweet embrace. 

The moment was ruined however, but a hiccup. This time, it didn’t belong to Spot.

Race shot up and turned to Spot, who looked as though he’d just won the lottery.

They stared at each other for the longest moment- Racetrack with wide eyes and Spot with a stupid grin- before Race rather eloquently said, "Fuck!"

  
  



End file.
